by Holly Rayner
“I don’t think this woman would have followed me even if I’d been Prince Charming himself. Like I said, she wasn’t having any of my nonsense.”
“I told you. American women can smell it from three miles away. They proved it on one of those nature channels.”
“I forgot you got really into those nature channels that year you didn’t get any dates,” I told him, snickering.
“Ha-ha,” he pretended to laugh.
“It’s true. But all women can smell it from at least two miles away.” The barista danced forward with her own opinion, her eyes sparkling. “Including women in Al-Jarra. They just might be a little enticed by all that money flowing from your robes.”
“Finally, someone on my side!” Alim said, smacking his hands together. “I’ve been waiting for this moment.”
“It isn’t just my charm, then?” I asked, flashing a perfect, cocky smile. I winked at the barista, grinning as she blushed. “Ah. That’s what I thought.”
“You’re going to need more than that,” the barista said, twirling back. “A few more tricks up your sleeve, as the Americans say.”
After finishing our coffee, Alim and I wandered down the road, killing time after lunch. Alim told me about the screenplay he was writing—an action flick that would almost certainly never be picked up. He considered himself the “artistic” one of our friendship, and forever tried to persuade me that that was indeed the case. How hard he worked. The colorful language he could use, when he tried.
“I think you couldn’t pay someone enough to make such a stupid movie,” I’d told him, watching as the red sprung up on his cheeks.
“You’re going to be proven wrong in the best way,” he’d replied, waggling his finger. “Just wait.”
Alim and I parted ways a little after 4. Heading to my car, I drew out a pair of jeans, a nice button-up, and changed into them in a nearby bar. Before darting away, I took a shot of tequila, enjoying the wave of confidence that rushed through me. After giving the bartender a ten-dollar tip, I walked down the street with swagger, knocking my shoulders back before arriving once more at the entrance of the elementary school.
Sure enough, the raven-haired woman waited at the front gate, helping the kids as they got ready to leave. I watched her crouch down, buttoning up a girl’s jacket. She winked at another, squeezing his nose. There was a warmth to each of her gestures that verged on maternal.
I hung back for a while, peering at my phone and peeking up from time to time. Just after the last student scrambled into the back of his parents’ jeep, I moved up the sidewalk. With a lurch, I watched her eyes find me and then fall away from me. She recognized me, but she wasn’t terribly pleased about it.
“Hi!” I said to her, my voice deep and warm. “I wondered if you’d be out here again today.”
She looked at me incredulously. “I work here, don’t I?” she asked, sounding almost sassy. There was a wall between us. One I’d have to break down.
“I guess that’s right, although I don’t know much more,” I said, trying to butter her up. “You’re a secretive one, it seems.”
“I don’t know what else you’d want me to share with you,” she said, her nostrils flared. “I mean, it’s not like I’ll be—”
“Going out with me? No, no,” I said, waving my hand side to side. “Of course not. I just have this curious mind. I know there’s something to you, something different than most of the women around here. And I just—”
“That’s the oldest trick in the book, isn’t it?” the woman said, giving me a wry smile. “Telling me I’m different. That I mean more to you than others, because there’s just another layer to me. Another dimension.” Her eyes gleamed, showing her intellect.
Not for the first time, I felt a genuine wave of curiosity for her. But I couldn’t give into it, knowing that the minute I started feeling “into” her, I’d lose the game. It was now a game between me and her, and between me and Alim. I had to juggle both.
“Come on, now. Just tell me what your name is,” I said, my voice earnest. I wanted to make her think I was losing my mind. I wanted to give her the idea of more power, without actually relinquishing it.
She moved toward me, ever so slightly. Behind her, I could see an older woman watching us, only half-concealed by the door.
“My name’s Angie,” she finally told me, sounding begrudging.
“Angie.” I nodded, giving her a soft smile. “That’s a pretty name.”
“You’d have said that no matter what I told you,” she returned, giving me a bemused look. “So, I’ve done it. I’ve given you my name. Now, it’s your turn.”
“I’m Rami,” I said, reaching for her hand and shaking it. “It’s nice to meet someone from abroad. And especially nice to welcome you to the area, since you said you’re new here.”
“Sure. Yes.” She drew her hand back, swiping it through her dark hair. For a moment, her smile sparkled, before she forced it away. “I’d better be getting back inside.”
“Why don’t you let me show you around sometime?” I heard myself ask her, leaning closer. “When prying eyes aren’t watching us so closely?”
“Show me around where?” she asked me.
“Around my city. I’ve lived here all my life,” I told her. “And if you’re new, then there’s nobody better to show you…”
“I’m not so sure,” she said, waving her hand. “Although, I mean, thank you for the offer. It’s obviously very kind of you, thinking of it. No matter your real reason.”
Suddenly, she swung back toward the school ground and swiftly walked away. I felt smacked across the face, failing yet again at a thing I’d felt was my specialty: flirting.
Somewhere behind me, I heard a bright, familiar laugh. Rushing around, I watched as Alim pulled up in his car, his eyes burning with glee.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked, my face growing sour.
“Just watching you fail, time after time,” he said, tossing his head back. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it so pronounced before; she’ll hardly look at you.”
“That’s not true,” I told him. “She gave me her name.”
“Oh? That’s step one.” Alim patted the seat beside him in the car. “Come on, buddy. We can’t all get lucky today.”
But I wouldn’t give up. Over the next few days, I found myself drawn to the school—no longer even doing it for the bet, but just for my own, personal drive to succeed. I tried everything. I brought Angie flowers, and wrote her cute little cards. One afternoon, I borrowed Alim’s adorable golden retriever puppy and walked him to the entrance. I watched as Angie crouched down, gave the puppy a kiss. But still she refused a dinner date with me, telling me she had to make a phone call with her parents.
Each day, Alim was in the background laughing at me. “Not today, my friend,” became his catchphrase, as I sank into the front seat of his car and hung my head with anger. I knew my tactics needed to change, but I’d never had to try so hard before.
“I told you. They’re too headstrong,” Alim said, darting the car toward my penthouse apartment and parking in the garage below. “They know what they want, and they certainly know what they don’t want. It kind of sounds like you’re edging on the ‘don’t want’ list. Doesn’t it?”
On the following Monday, I made up my mind to stop screwing around. Donning a black button-up and a pair of jeans, I set my sights on Angie at the end of the school day, marched up to her, and said in a firm-yet-kind voice, “Listen. I’m sorry I’ve been so abrasive this past week.”
Angie’s smile faltered. She looked at me, really looked at me, for the first time in several days. Her pink lips parted, hunting for something to say, but I continued before she could.
“I like you. I think we would have things to talk about, if you wanted to give it a chance.”
“It?” she asked, her eyebrows coming together in the center. “What do you mean, it?”
“I just mean…walking down to the market and letting me buy you
something from your favorite street vendor. Surely you like to eat. And if you don’t like anything there, then you just haven’t had the right thing yet. I can show you,” I told her. From where I stood, the air hung heavy with the smells and spices from the market. I knew they filled her nose, too.
After stuttering for a moment, Angie glanced toward the door. For the first time all week, the other woman wasn’t poised there, watching us. After a long, anxious pause, she finally answered.
“I’m kind of hungry, sure,” she sighed. Her smile fluttered, then fell. “I can meet you out here in ten minutes. If you can wait?”
God, could I wait. I felt over the moon.
I tried to play it cool, nodding slowly. But I sensed, as she darted back inside the school, that this was my way in. The beginning of me finding a way to make her fall in love with me. I spun on my heels to find Alim in his car. I gave him the first thumbs up of the week and he drove away, tossing his head back with laughter.
He still thought he was winning. But I felt determination stirring in my stomach. I wouldn’t let myself lose.
Some twenty minutes later, Angie appeared back in the doorway. She was dressed differently, having donned a bright yellow dress and a pair of sandals. She swept delicate fingers through her black hair, then joined me, giving a small nod.
“Sorry. That took a bit longer than I expected,” she said, her eyes shimmering. She was inspecting every inch of me. And I let her, taking a step back. It felt, suddenly, that something big was about to happen. But I allowed the feeling to pass.
As we began our stroll toward the market, I considered all the things I could buy for her. All the things that would show her that falling in love with me could have lucrative benefits. But as we stuttered into the beginning of our conversation, I reminded myself that I wasn’t Rami, the Sheikh. Not right now.
Rather, I was a normal guy, who was smitten with a normal girl. I had to keep my wallet to myself.
Chapter 5
Angie
Rami had finally beaten me down. I found myself agreeing to a trip to the market and now I was walking alongside him, trying to think of something to say. He walked with a dominance that I found alluring, attractive, yet told myself not to. My heart hammered with a few moments of confusion. I remembered that “dating,” or whatever this was, was something I hadn’t done in quite some time. This wasn’t my world.
“So you’ve lived here how long?” I finally asked him, feeling the awkwardness in the space between us.
“All my life,” he told me, flashing that smile again. I felt my stomach lurch with a moment of terror, as if this smile contained everything I needed to know. Whatever that was, I wasn’t sure. “And I can tell you, beyond anything else, that it’s the best place in the world to live.”
“Is that right?” I asked, chuckling. I found myself drawing closer to him. My smile came more easily, more genuinely.
“I can’t imagine you have a better place to be from, do you?” he asked, leaning his head closer.
“A small town in South Dakota,” I finally said, revealing the first of my details beyond my name. “It’s not a place to brag about, really.”
“Tell me about it,” he said, his eyes sparkling.
The heat had begun to blast down on my shoulders. I wasn’t sure if my sweat was from nerves, or from the sun. I swept my hand across my brow, finding an answer.
“As a state it’s pretty barren. A lot of small towns, tucked between the Rocky Mountains and the mountains up north, near Montana.”
“These names. They sound so American,” Rami laughed. “They sound like something out of a cowboy movie.”
“That’s because that’s where the cowboys were, of course!” I said, laughing.
“Home on the plains and all that?” Rami asked, surprising me. “I was obsessed with that stuff when I was a kid. Always wanted to go and see it, to learn to ride a horse, and climb a mountain. Isn’t that what you guys are always doing over there?”
“Something like that,” I said, surprised at the way he made me grin.
The market stretched out before us, a sprawling collection of stalls filled with spiced foods, desserts and drinks. The city people were streaming out from their workplaces, getting together with friends and nibbling at food. Laughter filled the air.
The crowd was tight as we began to maneuver through it, forcing me closer to Rami than I might have liked. But for some reason, I suddenly didn’t mind it: having to follow closely behind this handsome, yet arrogant man. The man who’d appeared at my school’s doorstep every day for a week, on some kind of mission to be with me.
What was I supposed to make of it?
“Have you had this one yet?” Rami asked me, pointing to a cart offering an array of falafel and hummus. The man behind the counter was wearing a jaunty chef’s hat, and it bobbed and weaved as he smashed up the hummus, stirring it with olive oil. “This is one of my favorite vendors.”
I waited as Rami ordered, congratulating the man on a good display and asking him about business. I liked watching him interact with the cook, a much older man, who slowly warmed up to Rami.
After a moment, the chef was passing Rami a sample of hummus, watching his face as he tried it. Rami offered the spoon to me as well, watching closely as I tipped my tongue against the side. The smooth, nutty and garlic flavor was incredible, better than anything I’d experienced, despite the many months I’d spent in the Middle East. I nodded quickly, making large eyes at the vendor.
“My gosh, that’s delicious,” I said.
“I told you,” Rami said.
We ordered a platter of hummus with pita breads and sat along the side of the market. After passing me the plate, Rami swept off to order us two glasses of locally made wine, which shimmered in the light as he approached. I felt my knees tap together, waiting for him to sit beside me. For some reason, I was incredibly aware of my body.
I felt electricity spark up and down my spine.
“So, tell me about yourself,” Rami said, lifting a pita bread to his lips and chewing slowly.
“There’s not a lot to say,” I shrugged, taking a piece of pita as well. I grinned at him, making eye contact. I reminded myself that I had to keep my life under wraps. That mention of my mother and father wouldn’t do me any good—it would just bring tears to my eyes. “What about yourself?”
“Ha. I don’t believe that for a second,” Rami said. “You certainly have a life here. A family back home. Hobbies. Interests.”
“Ah. Interests. I can do that,” I said, chuckling. “For one, I like to teach.”
“Obviously,” Rami said in stride. “But that’s your job. What do you do when you’re out of school? What does that little American brain think about?”
“Not so little, thank you very much,” I said, lifting my chin. “But if you must know, I’m an avid reader. I’m on my fifth book this month.”
“Children’s books?” he asked, swatting my shoulder.
“Ha.”
“I know, I know. My humor makes me quite a catch.” Rami’s eyes glittered with a kind of certainty, knowing that I got his humor instantly. His sarcasm rang clearly, much like American guys I was used to. But he had a certain spark to him, as well.
Suddenly, I realized my wine glass was empty. My head spun slightly, from just one glass.
“Do you want another?” Rami asked me.
I gave him a shrug, suddenly ready to dive into more conversation with him. I didn’t want the date to end—if a date was really what I was calling it, in my head. “Sure.”
I followed him to the stall, tossing out the paper plate we’d eaten from. We waited in line, laughing with one another, as Rami told me his interests, his hobbies.
“I actually love basketball,” he told me, after he ordered two more wines. “It gives you this incredible rush, you know? You’re swept up in this sea of people and energy and then, suddenly, the ball’s in the hoop and you’re blasting down the court again. It’s incred
ible. I can’t believe more people aren’t into it.”
“I’ve never heard it described so eloquently,” I told him, taking the glass of wine. I felt my cheeks grow red. “I mean, everyone in South Dakota plays basketball, but they kind of just grunt about it. Nothing poetic.”
“Those of us from Al-Jarra like a certain level of poetry to everything,” Rami laughed. “I could describe this wine poetically—with a hint of tartness, a wood-like quality. But then I’d be lying, because I don’t know a single thing about wine. Only that I like to drink it.”
“Me too,” I admitted, joining him in laughter.
We strolled through the other side of the market, finding ourselves in front of a dessert station. Rami was speaking about himself in a slightly self-centered way, about his awards in various areas of his university degree. But I found that he was very clearly listening to what I said, that he held my words in his head.
“So that’s why you decided to move over here?” he asked me, after I’d muttered something about the scholarship I’d gotten to work in Al-Jarra. “For the money? Or was it something else that drove you? A desire to see the world?”
The personal question felt bizarre, especially since I hadn’t had a real, fully formed conversation with a man who wasn’t my father in several months. I tilted my head, trying to see what was behind his eyes. Trying to find the reason for the question.
“I was fascinated with your culture,” I told him, truthfully. “And I was only 23 at the time. I wanted to stretch out across the world and discover…I don’t know, what I was meant to be.”
Of course, this was true. But there was so much to it, as well. There was the fact of my mother’s diagnosis. There was the fact going home would necessarily mean that my mother would die. I was latched onto life in Al-Jarra now. And I was unable to return.
Perhaps he saw a flicker of this truth in my eyes. Perhaps he didn’t. But he stopped talking for a moment, thinking about my answer. Above us, a brightly colored bird glided over, casting a shadow across his perfect face.